Breastplate Villanelle

Watching myself wait,
in love with myself, as always,
waiting for the blood to abate.

Thinking of St. Patrick’s Breastplate,
sitting with my head in a daze,
watching myself wait.

What is blood’s level in its normal state?
Why should I settle for anything less?—
waiting for my blood to abate.

Christ with me as my blood passes through the gates
of the heart, to cop a phrase—
watching myself wait,

listening for such pounding on the walls of fate—
senses full of the Oneness, blood in our eyes.
How may the blood abate

when we can finally hold each other’s weight
(just a bit abashed by the surprise!)?—
Watching myself wait,
waiting for the blood to abate.